


Medicine

by BlackAcre13



Series: Song to Song [1]
Category: Ocean's 8 (2018), Ocean's Eleven Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bartenders, F/F, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Medical Procedures, Medical School, One Shot, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:41:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28079358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackAcre13/pseuds/BlackAcre13
Summary: “No. See, this is what you do,” Lou sighed. “You make me guess and then, I’m interested. And then you think because I’m interested, that I want to do it.”“Don’t you want to do things you’re interested in?” Debbie teased.“I’m interested in brain surgery.” Lou offered as an example.“Well, we know that’s not going to happen.” Debbie said matter-of-factly.Debbie regretted her words the instant they passed out of her mouth.Lou felt an ice-cold shiver run down her spine.“Really, Debs? You wanna go there?”[Scattered Debbie/Lou one-shots pre-canon, post-canon, and completely on its head alternate universe. Each work is based on the lyrics of one song and stands alone. Thirty songs so far in my head, but absolutely open to requests to use as prompts.]
Relationships: Lou Miller & Debbie Ocean, Lou Miller/Debbie Ocean
Series: Song to Song [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057028
Comments: 7
Kudos: 38





	Medicine

**Author's Note:**

> After over a year apparently? Hello! I've become one of those annoying authors.
> 
> Welcome to this clusterfuck of one-shots that have been sitting as an idea on my phone for ages. Each work is a one-shot that's either pre-canon, post-canon, or alt-universe but centered around Lou and Debbie. Each work is inspired by different song lyrics.
> 
> No update schedule so far, just as inspiration strikes, but I'm working from a starter song list and open to suggestions as prompts!

****

_“_ _Pick it up, pick it all up_ _  
And start again  
You've got a second chance  
You could go home  
Escape it all  
It's just irrelevant_

_  
It's just medicine  
You could still be  
What you want to  
What you said you were  
When I met you.”_

**_Medicine by Daughter_ **

Of course, there was a con. Of course. Debbie has asked for a credit line. Lou knew she’d been plotting something. And she knew no matter how much she denied, she’d get dragged into it. Because it was Debbie. It was always Debbie. And she’d do anything for her.

She just didn’t think it would be the first damn thing out of her mouth after almost six years in prison.

Lou looked down at the stolen jacket and chuckled to herself. She wouldn’t be returning it, even if she joked about it. She’d never returned anything that Debbie had ever bought, well, stole her. Whether it was because she really loved it or if it was sentimental reasons alone.

“Well, if you’re going to have a problem with stealing, you’re not going to like the rest of this conversation.” Debbie hinted.  
  


 **“** What, we’re going to shoplift?” Lou asked, raising her eyebrows. That was minor leagues, there was no way.

  
 **“** Maybe,” Debbie shrugged with a smirk.  
  


 **“** No. See, this is what you do,” Lou sighed. “You make me guess and then, I’m interested. And then you think because I’m interested, that I want to do it.”

  
 **“** Don’t you want to do things you’re interested in?” Debbie teased.  
  


 **“** I’m interested in brain surgery.” Lou offered as an example.

  
 **“** Well, we know that’s not going to happen.” Debbie said matter-of-factly.

  
Debbie regretted her words the instant they passed out of her mouth.  
  
Lou felt an ice-cold shiver run down her spine.  
  
“Really, Debs? You wanna go there?”

****

“Ms. Miller?” He repeated again. 

Why the hell didn’t they let anyone else be in the room with you? It wasn’t like she was really on trial. 

But then why did it feel like she was waiting for someone to come along with an axe and make her a modern gay Anne Boleyn?

“Ms. Miller?” He sighed. 

“Don’t I get an attorney or something?” Lou exhaled.

“No.” He sighed again. “This is a private hearing with select members of the hospital board. You’re not on trial.”

“Sure as shit feels like I am.” Lou mumbled. 

“You may want to pick a different tone seeing as your whole future is on the line, Ms. Miller.”

“It’s Lou.”

“Fine. Ms. Louise, will you please answer my question?”

Lou rolled her eyes at the use of her full given name.

_It was a simple question. The problem was, even if she asked herself, she didn’t know if she could answer it truthfully._

_“Babe, just pretend it’s me. What would you tell me?”_

“I’ll ask one more time, Ms. Miller, and then I’m going to have to go above my head and there may be legal ramifications involved. And then you can have all the damn lawyers you want.”

Lou breathed in sharply through her nose. 

“Ms. Miller, are you an alcoholic?”

_Lou, baby. It’s just me. Just Debs. You can tell me. I’m not gonna judge you._

“I don’t think so, no.” She said lowly, trying to truly process it. 

It’s just a drink here and there. Maybe three or four. Liquid courage, right? She had people’s lives to save after all.

“Miss. Miller, isn’t it true that you went to a bar an hour before you helped to perform a surgery?”

“Yes.”

“Does alcoholism run in your family?”

“My father.”

“Is he alive, today?”

“No.” She swallowed thickly. “Drank himself to death.”

_That’s what you’re going to do to yourself if you keep this up. What about Debbie?_

“Ms. Miller, before the surgery, when you went to the bar. Were you accompanied by anyone else who works at the hospital?”

“No.” She lied.

“Did you have any food with your drinks?”

Shit.

“A cigarette.” She laughed darkly before correcting herself. “No.”

“How many drinks did you have?”

What was it? Six, maybe seven? Or was it eight that day?

“Enough.” She offered.

“Excuse me?” He asked.

Lou realized that he probably thought she was saying that she’d had enough of whatever this bullshit non-trial trial was, but she’d been saying it mostly to herself. Enough is enough. She couldn’t even count her drinks.

“Enough that it was a grave mistake.” She admitted.

He allowed this as an answer even though it avoided the question. 

“You’ve only received praise as a surgical intern so far. No one doubts you’d pass your boards on the first try with high marks. Your supervising resident says that she would trust you with her life and head of neuro said he’d hand over the reins to the department as soon as tomorrow if you were finished with your residency.”

Was there hope then? Weren’t her merits enough to overlook one little slip up? Maybe there’d been more. But hadn’t this been the only severe one?

“Seems a great shame to be having this conversation. But we’re not going to let you risk other people’s lives and wait to have your medical license taken away in ten-twenty-maybe thirty years if you get caught. We’re not gonna let it get that far.”

And there it was. Fuck.

“Ms. Miller, tell me. Would you let an alcoholic work on your brain when your life was on the line?”

Lou stayed silent. Of course she wouldn’t.

“What about your emergency contact we have listed here. Deborah Ocean? I see she’s your fiancée.”

Don’t you dare bring Debbie into this. Lou tried to keep silent but he kept pressing. 

“No, Jesus. I wouldn’t let someone with a drinking problem touch Debbie especially with a life-threatening injury, no.”

“Then I think we have our answer.”

_What answer?_ Lou thought to herself.

“You yourself just said that someone with a drinking problem, which we wouldn’t phrase it that way, but someone who has run ins with alcoholism and a family medical history related to it, who is showing signs that this disease is something they too may be or will be suffering from, shouldn’t operate on a human being. Especially their brain. Especially if they’re using alcohol in order to be able to successfully do their job.”

“I’ll get help.” Lou offered numbly.

“We’re not looking for suggestions or solutions, Ms. Miller.” He frowned. “If you had been upfront that there was a history and you had a fear you would be falling into the same path, and actively avoiding it, then maybe. But you operated on someone under the influence of alcohol at a blood alcohol level that would’ve gotten you arrested had you been driving. Do you think you should be holding a scalpel?”

Lou said nothing. Too stunned to answer or defend herself.

“You’re free to finish medical school. You can even take your boards. But we’ll be making note of this. You cannot finish as an intern here, and we refuse to take you on for our residency program. But any hospital you apply to or match with is going to know about this pattern of incidents. You might want to look into other ways to use your degree, Ms. Miller.”

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

“You can go now. We’ll send someone to your home with your belongings and a counselor to do some follow-ups like finding you some assistance and discussing some educational opportunities for you.”

****

The conference room was empty. Just the long, ominous oak table stretched before her looming into the distance.

Never before had she felt so small. She could see the sun dipping lower through the cracks in the blinds. Almost dusk. Hadn’t the meeting been called for 10:00am?

“Lou?”

Lou looked up slowly and met Debbie’s worried eyes with her own red and raw eyes irritated from tears of defeat and frustration.

“I brought you some clothes.” Debbie smiled, but her eyes didn’t match the weak smile she offered.

Lou was immensely grateful. If she was never going to work in a hospital again, she never wanted to see another pair of scrubs.

Debbie walked closer, meeting Lou at the end of the table who remained sitting gripping the chair like her life depended on it.

“Let me help you.” Debbie whispered, pulling back Lou’s chair a bit.

Lou remained frozen, looking up to Debbie’s soft, smiling face, still full of worry, but giving Lou a smidge of hope. At least she still had Debbie.

“Lift.” Debbie said, motioning to Lou’s arms.

Lou lifted her arms and allowed Debbie to slide the scrub top over her head, followed by the tight undershirt before throwing the pair to the floor, leaving Lou exposed in a sports bra with her shoulder and back tattoos peeking out, radiating against her pale skin.

Debbie slowly straddled Lou’s legs and sat as Lou gripped Debbie’s hips to steady Debbie and to steady herself.

Lou continued to stare into Debbie’s eyes as Debbie removed Lou’s surgical cap and threw it to the ground by her shirts. She gently unraveled the tiny braid that had been tucked underneath and brushed Lou’s bangs out back in front of her eyes before kissing Lou on the forehead, the nose, and then the lips.

“You’ve never looked this sad before I was about to take your pants off, babe.” Debbie grinned.

Lou offered a weak smile, but she wasn’t ready to talk about it, let alone joke about it.

Debbie played with the ties of the scrubs and shimmied them down Lou’s hips before standing to slide them off. She wordlessly handed Lou a pair of jeans, before gently slipping a t-shirt over her shoulders and handing Lou one of her sweaters.

Debbie turned to gather the scrubs from the floor as Lou took in a whiff of Debbie’s scent and perfume that lingered on the sweater.

“Honey?” Lou whispered, tears re-forming in her eyes about to fall. She wanted to tell Debbie how grateful she was for her and that she was the one there taking care of Lou; the only one who would understand as much as someone else could.

“I love you too.” Debbie winked, offering out her hand.

Lou was beyond relieved and thankful that Debbie just understood her.

“Baby, let’s go home.” Debbie smiled. “We can come get your bike tomorrow. I brought the car.”

****

“Medical journalism?” Lou scoffed.

“That’s just one option.” Debbie sighed. “You’d shoot yourself if you were a receptionist, right?” Debbie asked, quickly ripping out the ad and throwing it to the ground.

“This is bullshit.” Lou huffed. “What if I went to the board and asked them to scrub off the incident for good behavior? That’s a thing, right?”

Debbie sadly shook her head. “I don’t think so, love.”

“But the therapy and AA.” Lou offered desperately.

Debbie frowned.

“Fucking Nicorette even.” Lou hissed, throwing the pack of gum across the table.

“What about a job?” Debbie asked, her eyes lighting up.

“That’s what I thought we were doing here.” Lou frowned, pushing sticky notes and want ads around the table.

“A con, Lou.” Debbie smiled.

“Aren’t we getting too old for that?” Lou asked.

“Still young enough to run if things go wrong, right? Sounds young enough to me.” Debbie laughed.

“Alright, Ocean. What’ve you been scheming?”

****

Debbie flew in the door and flung her trench coat over the back of the couch in a flurry.

“I’ve got our mark!” she sang, strolling into the living room.

Her mood quickly changed when she saw Lou glaring at a bottle of vodka on the coffee table.

“Lou?” she frowned, looking at her with concern.

“I haven’t had anything to drink.” Lou defended herself abruptly. They both waited a beat.

“I did think about it.” Lou admitted meekly.

“Why don’t we put that away and I’ll make us some tea?” Debbie offered, sitting down next to Lou.

“I’m making a peace offering.” Lou explained.

“With who?” Debbie asked, trying to look between the bottle and Lou to understand.

“The vodka first.” Lou laughed darkly.

Debbie waited without judgment, and offered her hand.

Lou gripped it tightly against her thigh.

“This fucking bottle ruined my life, Debbie.” Lou seethed. “It took away my hopes, my dreams, my future….Well, part of my future.” She smiled lightly.

“It’s just a bottle though.” Debbie spoke aloud, trying to understand.

“Exactly,” Lou nodded. “It’s just a damn bottle. And it’s not worth it. It took the chance to be a surgeon away. It took my father away. I just don’t want to lose you. Lose myself.”

“So, you’re going to reclaim what alcohol means to you?” Debbie tried.

“Hundred percent.”

“So how do we do that?” Debbie asked, squeezing Lou’s hand.

“I’m gonna get a job as a bartender.” Lou grinned.

“What!” Debbie exclaimed, standing up. “That’s the worst fucking solution I’ve ever heard. You want to surround yourself with alcohol? You want to tempt yourself?”

“No, Debs,” Lou murmured, standing to join her. She wrapped her arms around Debbie’s waist and kissed her softly behind the ear. “I want to know that I’m in control. That I make the drinks. Serve them. See how much liquor goes in them. Cut people off. Learn that balance of what makes someone feel good and when it turns them into a disastrous idiot.”

“You’re going to observe the effects of alcohol with people as part of your recovery as an alcoholic?” Debbie asked.

“I need to step outside my body and see it,” Lou nodded. “It’s out of my system physically, but now I need to watch what it does to someone else from a step back and understand it mentally. Understand what I lost and what I still have left to gain.”

“Sounds like a science experiment of sorts.” Debbie mused.

“Precisely,” Lou winked. “I promise you. I’m not going to do anything stupid. You mean too much to me. My sobriety means too much to me. I’m not ever going to do anything that would make me lose you, Debs.”

****


End file.
